


Let There Be Bloodshed

by Anonymous



Category: Dream SMP - Fandom, Video Blogging RPF
Genre: Author Is Sleep Deprived, Blood and Gore, Dream can control the dreamscape, Dreamnoblade - Freeform, How Do I Tag, M/M, One-Sided Attraction, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Self-Indulgent, Tags May Change, Technoblade Hears Voices (Video Blogging RPF), The Author Regrets Everything, The Author Regrets Nothing, Vague Ending, forgive me god for I have sinned, hgnghbnhg im sorry to everyone for this lmao, i had an idea for another chapter but that will most probably not happen, i wrote this without really trying at like 2 am and polished it the next afternoon, if you're sensitive to blood or person vs self narratives then i don't recommend this, no beta we die like men, that should be canonized idk would be funny
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-28
Updated: 2021-02-28
Packaged: 2021-03-12 21:55:46
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,097
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29766195
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/
Summary: It's been six months since Technoblade first went into retirement, and life is nothing short of great. He's on his way to forget the guilt that plagued him after November 16th, and perfectly content with his only struggle in life being some rowdy bees or a few zombies which keep getting into his home.Except for the fact that, no matter how hard he tries to ignore it, he still craves violence.It doesn't help that the voice in his head won't stop trying to get him to give up his retirement, even in his dreams."I thought my demons were almost defeated,But you took their sideAnd you pulled them to freedom.They know my secrets and won't let me go,Won't let me go."- Demons (Philosophical Sessions) by Jacob Lee
Relationships: Clay | Dream/Technoblade (Video Blogging RPF), dreamnoblade - freeform - Relationship
Comments: 1
Kudos: 88
Collections: Anonymous





	Let There Be Bloodshed

Every other day of his retirement, he’d be tending to his farms, polishing his skills as much as his weapons, even if it wasn’t needed. He’d be sitting in front of his fireplace, awaiting Phil’s visits while listening to chat make dumb jokes about things he’d seen or things he’d read. Every other day of his retirement, he would be calm, that ever-famous bloodlust put to rest at last.

So why was it that he found himself here, in the nether, blood dripping from the netherbrick walls, the color of it nearly camouflaging the crimson liquid. Why was it that he sat on a golden throne, one long abandoned in another world entirely, why was it that he could smell gunpowder and burned flesh all around him? He shouldn’t be here.

The voices would’ve gone insane at the sight of this, and yet, his mind was as vacant as the room where he sat, torches being the only light source, and even those were few and far apart. Were they to see this, he wouldn’t know if he’d be able to deny them blood as he’d done for the past six months. Which is why it scared him, the quiet in his mind, and the already seeping lust for chaos. There was no way, no way this feeling was his own. He’d been the one to send himself to retirement, he’d finally grown comfortable and happy in his little cabin. 

_“This is becoming tiring, you know?”_

And there it was, the culprit. A sigh of relief involuntarily escaped him, having found someone to pin the blame on. He didn’t want chaos, no, the voices did. The voices always wanted blood, why would this be any different? The fact that he could only hear one of them and not echoing thousands remained unnoticed, as if it didn’t matter, the fact that a good percentage of the voices in his head were gone, replaced by a .000117647% of them all. 

The voice continued speaking.

_“I’m tired of waiting for you to do something.”_

_“It’s been months, surely you’re bored as well.”_

_“Don’t tell me that little vacation of yours weakened you, blood god?”_

“You know well that even after a thousand years of rest, I wouldn’t be weakened.”

_“Then why do you stall? Why are you pretending this is the life you want?”_

He wanted to yell at the voice, tell them how wrong they were, tell them that this is the life he wanted. He chose retirement, he chose _peace_ , after years and years of nothing but war. He deserved retirement. He wasn’t going to leave.

Yet his mouth remained shut, sealed by doubts over his own thoughts. Did he want retirement, or was it just an easy way to avoid the guilt that plagued him at seeing his loved ones turn against him? Was this just an escape from their disappointed and hating glares? _I do want war, don’t I?_

This voice held more power over his head than even he did.

It scared him. Even more so when the voice wanted everything he was fighting to leave behind, whatever the reason.

He’d been sitting here for hours now, or minutes, he couldn’t tell. It was all so very surreal, yet he felt at peace here, surrounded by the deaths of millions, their blood decorating the walls and their bodies serving as candles to add that foul stench of charred skin to the room.

Externally, he sat on the throne with his jaw leaning against the palm of his hand, which was covered in blood and slight bits of gore between his nails. Legs crossed, his feet resting on an ender chest, as if it were a loveseat like any other. Except that instead of it’s usual viridian color, it was burgundy, dyed red by the crimson pools that were now rising to ankle-height.

He noticed that his crown was much different to the one he usually wore. The golden headpiece was replaced by a netherite ringlet, spikes rising to the top and intertwining with each other as if it was made of branches, but that hellborn metal was recognizable anywhere. Instead of the lapis and emerald gems which were usually embedded into his crown, tiny diamonds were scattered around the supposed branches of his crown, each sticking out like thorns. These, too, were dyed red, and for a moment he wondered if it was himself who decided to use the blood of victims to redecorate the place.

Internally, he was playing tug of war with his mind. He was positioned against himself in a battlefield, fighting a war that, as far as he could see, would never be won. Whether to stay in retirement, not have anything to regret later, to give the world time to heal from what he’d done and eventually earn his family’s trust again, or give in. Or kill until he can’t tell other’s blood from his own, break until everything’s broken, ruin everything and everyone for his own sickening pleasure.

The answer should be obvious. He’d always hated his own bloodlust, even more so when it hurt the people he loved. But it was so _fun_ , and eventually, he always gave in. One way or the other. His hand forced or not. The answer should be obvious, so painfully obvious, yet the chaos always managed to heal him, only for the aftermath to break him down again.

This shouldn’t be a war he has to have.

So, he lied to himself. It rarely worked, but as rare as it was, he had hope that he’d be able to stall a little longer. To give everyone else just a little more time of peace, a little more time to prepare. 

“I don’t want to kill.” The lie felt bitter on his tongue, like smoke and gunpowder.

_“You do.”_ He didn’t want to admit to his defeat.

“Men in retirement don’t start wars because they’re _bored,_ even less because some voice in their head told them to.” This tug of war was won long ago, wasn’t it? It was unavoidable.

This would all be so much easier to handle if the voice wasn’t there, igniting and fueling the cravings for chaos. It would be so much easier, but then again, he’d never had much self-restraint to begin with.

But of course, the voice only made itself harder to ignore.

_“Hm, you’re right. Maybe I shouldn’t be in your head. Then you’ll think I’m one of them.”_

His eyes went wide, and his hand fell to his side, sitting up in both surprise and to get a better look at the person before him. He’d never talked to a voice head on, even less seen one until today. Tonight. Oh, whatever. This could even be an entirely different dimension, one where there was no night or day, and he wouldn’t know or care.

A silhouette stepped forward from the back of the room, where everything blended into the same black shadow, yet his figure was far enough that all details save for their height were indistinguishable. How odd, they were around Tommy’s height, if not taller. A pang of guilt hit his chest at the reminder of the reckless blonde, his youngest brother who now hated him beyond belief. He’d been stalling for him, for them, to give them just a little more time in happiness, but even he knew that wouldn’t last. It was fruitless, but it had to count for something, right?

It didn’t.

The only other thing he could tell of the figure was that they held an axe in their left hand, one detailed and expensive, if the shape and size were indication enough. The dim lighting of the torches lining the walls reflected off the metal of the axe, and he could easily tell it was netherite, with enchants and all. The sheer sight of it made him wish it was in his hands and through someone’s skull. Oh hell, why was it so hard to back down?

Lying to himself was off the table, guilt tripping himself wasn’t doing much either, and mere hesitation wouldn’t be enough to hold back the deep-rooted hunger for violence. So, he resorted to reasoning. Causing a war now, killing and destroying, it would be unnecessary. Not to mention he had no one to fight, nothing to pin the blame on were he to go through with it. The situation would quickly become inescapable, and no matter how high and mighty he was told to be, one man alone couldn’t take on multiple countries at once. Everyone would turn against him, and he’d be left staring back at the disgust and resentment of all the people he’d ever come to care for. Tommy, Tubbo, Ghostbur, Skeppy, Niki, Philza, even, if the man still had any self-preservation and common sense left from his past.

It didn’t work either. The thought lingered. He still had netherwart to brew potions with, and getting extra blaze rods wouldn’t be hard. He still had netherite armor stashed away in one of his many vaults, several sets of them, actually. He still had the location of the wither skeleton spawner, it wouldn’t be too hard to gather more skulls, and soul sand was by no means a scarce material. The thought lingered long enough for him to realize that he’d never really given up on violence, just put it on halt. It was never retirement, it was a vacation. 

The voice was right.

The thought of that voice having that much knowledge of him, to the point of knowing him better than he knew himself, it scared him. Even if it shouldn’t. Even if this had happened before. At least then it was thousands of voices, over something dumb, not only one over the life of possibly everyone he knew.

“Men in retirement don’t prepare for unborn wars, either.” Their voice was no longer an echo in his head, he noted. There really was someone in front of him, then? The slight fear didn’t leave him, instead it increased, placing a cold feeling under his fingertips. Why wasn’t there a weapon beside him? Where was his sword?

“That was a safety precaution.”

“Safety precaution? And who on this server would be dumb enough to fight against you?”

“I have many people in mind.”

“All of them fear you.”

“All of them hate me. If they teamed up, I wouldn’t be able to ignore them. I had to prepare.”

“Stop lying to yourself.”

“I’m not.”

“You keep saying that you don’t want to start any conflict again, that the two stacks of wither skulls aren’t for war, but you crave it. Why don’t you let yourself give in?”

“I think I like retirement, actually.”

He heard them sigh. Something akin to exhaustion and exasperation. Good, maybe soon enough they’d leave him alone. Maybe he’d be able to spare the world another few months, not mere hours.

Of course, they wouldn’t let him get away with trying to keep the peace.

The figure stepped forward, axe trailing behind them, scratching against the polished blackstone floor. The sound was muffled by the massive pool of blood that now covered the floor. A riptide followed directly behind the tip of the blade, the liquid barely letting the shrill scratch ring through the room. Techno cringed at the low sound for a moment, thinking faintly how much of a waste it was to dull away such a fine weapon.

Adjusting his position on the throne once more, Technoblade watched as the silhouette creeped forward, the figure no longer part of the shadows. He could see blonde hair, tame and yet completely wild at the same time. Freckles blooming from the bridge of their nose, stretching out over their cheeks and ending near their jaw. With a little more lighting to see him better, he noticed the figure was male, or at least resembled as such. Muted lime green eyes, hiding something akin to mischief and malice behind them. He was wearing all black, the color stretching out from his collar to his feet, save for an easily noticeable vesuvianite green pendant, hanging off a gold chain around his neck.

That shade of green reminded him an odd amount of Dream’s ever so famous hoodie, not to mention the freckles he remembers seeing after slicing his mask open in their duel. What a coincidence.

“ _I_ think we both know that’s a lie, _Technoblade._ ”

A shiver ran down his spine with the way the man said his name, and the feeling was both uncalled for and unwelcome in his subconscious. He hid away whatever stray thought told him to ask that he repeated his name, and stared as he stepped even closer, the man now standing before him, right in front of the chest where his feet were still rested.

Techno had half a mind to ask him ‘ _what if it was?_ ’, but he didn’t trust his own tongue to not say something absolutely ridiculous, such as actually asking the stranger to repeat his name, or even more, asking him for his own. Instead, he watched as the man kneeled before him, bowed his head, eyes shut and face devoid of any tell-tale expression. He looked...nearly at peace. The man raised the axe up with both arms towards Techno, as if it were an offering to a deity...

...Oh.

Oh, _no._

“I beg you, in the name of all of the voices, all eight-hundred, fifty-thousand of us. You want this, I want this, the rest of the voices want it. You yourself know you have nothing better to do. Tending to the farms can only calm us for so long. Please, just give us blood.”

He didn’t like this one bit. He hated the smile that threatened to rise at seeing him bow down and plead, he hated how hard he was trying to get him to give up on the feigned retirement, and he hated even more how much he wanted to give into the pleas.

“That wouldn’t be reason enough to give up everything I’ve been working for. I just got the hang of waking up with the sun again, you know?”

“That doesn’t have to end. If you want, you can keep this place. I’ll even help keep it, just, please.”

The man looked up, the muted lime staring back into crimson. He hated most of all how his breath caught in his throat, how his body stilled at making eye-contact with the man.

He sighed, trying to kickstart his lungs into working again. What was he to do? All of his reasonings up until now had been excuses, no matter how much it hurt to admit. He did want to leave, maybe keep the farms, the small safe-haven in the middle of a frozen nowhere. But he also wanted something to do, something to fight, something to destroy. He craved for the thrill of the hunt. 

A few beats of silence. It left his throat as nothing more than a whisper. “I don’t want to hurt my family again.” It was all he had left to say. He chose to keep his regrets from the previous wars close to himself, and not foolishly revealing them to a man who he’d barely met. Plus, if he was already living in his head, surely he’d know.

“I’ll make sure you don’t.”

“Why do you sound so sure?”

“Because I am. Together, there’s not a thing we can’t do. Listen to us. Let us guide you.”

“Last time I did that I ended with another thirty people added to my body count.”

“It won’t be the same, I promise.”

He stood, the man’s eyes following his every move. He picked up the axe, and gestured for the man to stand. He did so without question. The axe looked beautiful in his grasp, and the change it had from purple-ish with lime green crystals to grayscale with dyed-red diamonds went unnoticed once again. Everything he touched seemed to turn bloodstained, huh.

“If you fail me, I’ll find you, you know? If my cabin disappears or if I find a single bruise on them. I don’t want Tommy, Ghostbur, or Phil to even know I’m out of retirement, under any circumstances. Spare Tubbo, too. I’ll play your game as long as you abide by my rules.”

The man nodded, and extended his hand, albeit stained with blood from the floor. His own palm wasn’t any better. Blood seemed to be everywhere in this room, and for a moment he wondered where it came from, before the thought of there being more sprung into his mind. It brought a smile to his face, and this time, he didn’t bother hiding it. If all it took to calm the wars in his head was making a deal with the devil, then who was he to not shake his hand?

“Then it’s a deal, Blood God.”

He ignored the small disappointment that hit him when he didn’t say his name. The deal was made, and the tug of war in his head was over, one side clearly victorious, all the bloodshed it would bring dancing along with it. Technoblade sat back on the throne, a grin on his face, every bone in his body seemingly reawakening at the prospect of dominating all battlefields once again. The sea of crimson below him seemed to grow both in size and in agitation with the leave of the stranger, and he was consoled by the thought that he’d see him again. 

Soon enough, the closed-off throne room was completely submerged in blood, everything inside drowning in the crimson liquid. The stranger from before smiled as he slipped on a lime green hoodie over the black turtleneck, hiding the gold and green necklace under thick fabric. A porcelain mask and black, fingerless, leather gloves followed, a brand new axe summoning in place of where the old one was. He could spare an axe for his beloved, he could give them all up if he so desired, really.

He stepped out of the dreamscape and stepped back into his own body, awaking just in time to see the first rays of light in the horizon. His grin seemed to widen, the knowledge that his plan had both worked and was now in fruition lighting something in his head aflame.

With one hand in his hoodie pockets, clutching two familiar discs, and the other holding onto the brand new axe, he watched the sun rise, looking forward to the new day.

“Let there be bloodshed.”

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you for reading this little disaster of mine! Funnily enough this is the first time I've written 3k in one go, at least the first time that it's happened without a struggle or any breaks.
> 
> Uhhh,, comment if you found anything interesting, kudos if you liked it, and have a nice day/night!


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